


À Propos

by tibeyg



Series: Pornalot 2017 [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Extreme Cheekiness, Insubordination, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 00:52:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11863218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tibeyg/pseuds/tibeyg
Summary: When Arthur exited the bathroom in a gust of steam, he found the groundskeeper in his room. Lying on his bed. Grinning like a cat who’d got the cream, the cheese, and the custard to boot.





	À Propos

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Pornalot 2018 Challenge #2: Tease.

When Arthur exited the bathroom in a gust of steam, he found the groundskeeper in his room. Lying on his bed. Grinning like a cat who’d got the cream, the cheese, and the custard to boot.

‘Looking delectable, milord,’ said Wyllt, eyebrows jostling. 

Arthur pulled all the dignity he possessed and the towel about his waist together. ‘I was not expecting a social call, Wyllt. A most unexpected…ah, _position_ to find you if it is one, I must say.’

‘I’ll say,’ said Wyllt. ‘Not expecting a social call! The way you were acting all day, so bossy. So mouthy. _Itching_ for it. I can tell.’

‘You can tell _nothing_ of _any_ sort. I itched for _nothing_ , save to clobber your irritating head.’

But Wyllt, infuriating pest he was, rambled on. ‘Not expecting a social call!’ he repeated. ‘Well, perhaps this isn’t quite social. It is – how would you say? – a sexual call.’ 

‘Don’t look so pleased, Wyllt. That is hardly a witticism.’

‘I don’t hear any protests.’ Wyllt’s grin stretched wider and he rolled a shoulder back. Arthur could see that his waistcoat was open and his top buttons were undone, revealing the pale edges of his collarbones and a dusting of dark hair below. Arthur turned away.

‘Wyllt, it’s hardly appropriate.’

‘I’ll tell you what’s hardly appropriate. How plump your bottom is. _Mmm_.’

‘Wyllt!’

‘Swaying oh-so-seductively in my face all day!’ Wyllt sighed. ‘Do you have any idea how tantalised I was? Come on, milord. You might enjoy yourself for once.’

Arthur bit his lip. He looked at Wyllt, stretched and rumpled. 

‘Do this with a lot of guests, you harlot?’

The cockiness on Wyllt’s face, which had begun to slip, revived twicefold. ‘Only the really pretty ones,’ he said. ‘Come on!’

Arthur sat, and Wyllt surged up to kiss him. He was rough, playful; his tongue prodded into his mouth, and he nibbled at his bottom lip. Arthur could feel his stubble. He raised his hands to push Wyllt’s clothes off, but then Wyllt broke away and Arthur’s mouth chased nothingness.

‘Uh-uh,’ said Wyllt. ‘I want to see you first.’

‘You’re wearing more than me!’ 

‘But you’re covering the most _crucial_ bits, clotpole. Come on! Off with that towel!’

‘You’re a _pest_ ,’ Arthur said with feeling, but he took it off. Wyllt stared the way a rude child might. Arthur’s cock twitched, as though embarrassed.

Then Wyllt was kissing him again, hands roaming down his arms, across the planes of his chest, down over his thighs. He found Arthur’s nipples and tweaked them, hard, so that Arthur gasped Wyllt’s name into his mouth.

‘Merlin,’ said Wyllt.

‘Wh-what?’

‘My name.’

‘Oh.’ Arthur licked his lips. ‘I’m Arthur.’

‘I know,’ said Wyllt, or Merlin, and then he smiled and dived down to lick the nipples.

Arthur lay back and let Merlin lick his torso. He was very tense, and each lave released a puff of sound from his throat. He could feel himself becoming erect; he felt Merlin notice. He wanted Merlin to put his mouth there.

Merlin did not. He made a point of circumventing it, tracing a path through the pubic thatch and kissing the soft fold of skin that joined pelvis to thigh. 

‘Get up.’ Merlin sounded raspy. He coughed. ‘Get up,’ he said again. There was a new authority to his voice. Arthur got up.

Merlin manhandled him. He forced him off the mattress, and made Arthur stand with his back to it, shivering with lust and chill. Arthur looked down and met his gaze as Merlin sat up, moving his knees to either side of Arthur’s body. He released each shirt button from its slot with an erotic slowness and pushed against the backs of Arthur’s knees. Arthur felt the harness of his erection behind the wool roughness.

Merlin gripped his buttocks with both hands, and held them apart. He kissed the valley between – once, twice.

‘Will you – ?’

‘ _Do it_.’

He felt the pliable wetness of tongue against his arsehole. He tightened instinctively, but it worked on, and he felt himself open. He could feel the plush press of Merlin’s lips against his skin and pushed back against it. He felt the wet slide inside, nudge by nudge, until it penetrated and held him apart. It felt unusual to have something purposeful there, and the unusualness aroused him. He reached for his erection, but Merlin caught his wrists and wordlessly carried on. Arthur felt himself sweat.

Merlin only released him when he seemed certain that Arthur was too high-strung to try anything. He nudged a finger in, beside his tongue. There was substance to it that the tongue did not have, and Arthur began to understand the appeal of being filled, why there were whispers that other men did this. He felt sure he would burst with the second finger, and he could hear the little wet sounds of collected saliva as they moved inside him. The blunt fingertips pressed momentarily against something inside, something shy with the forbidden delight of lazy champagne-soaked summer afternoons, and tormented it.

‘Merlin, _Merlin_ , please…’

Everything paused. Time suspended briefly. _This is it_ , thought Arthur, _there is no return_.

Then Merlin pulled back. The hands, the tongue, the hardness against the back of his knee – gone. Arthur whipped around. There he was, chin shiny-wet with saliva, mouth swollen-red with kisses, hair sensual-wry with humidity. He was buttoning his shirt back up, his features fighting down a grin.

‘Would you look at the time, Lord Pendragon!’ he said. ‘It behoves me to lend my assistance to the dinner preparation at this _fine_ hour.’

‘Why, you little…’

Arthur lunged, but he twisted away and sprang to his feet, shrugging his jacket over his waistcoat. At the door, he glanced back.

‘I shall see you at dinner, milord!’ he chirruped. ‘Hopefully in a more…ah… _composed_ state.’

He wiped his chin, threw Arthur a wink, and disappeared in a flash.

 _Bastard_! Arthur flopped down onto the bed. He was going to have his _head_.

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly inspired by _Maurice_ by E.M. Forster.
> 
> If you like the enemies-to-lovers trope then check out [my gf's gay novel](http://valeaida.tumblr.com/post/149576789996/an-elegy-info-post), illustrated by me!


End file.
